


Was it a dream, was it a nightmare ?

by Halebop



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Jonathan discover the pleasures of bottoming and does not know how to deal with it, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shotgunning, as in the rest of the book, because it's unclear if it's dracula power or just a strange state, still written as consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halebop/pseuds/Halebop
Summary: Journal of Jonathan Harper6 may - addendum to my journalTruly this is a fascinating and dangerous part of the word. I tremble to narrate my experience of the night, and it's this fear of not only of the accusation of the world, but also my own guiltiness, of my own pleasure, that pushes me to write these particular facts on a torn off sheet of paper rather than my usual journal. Oh, if Mina were to read these lines !... Forgive me Mina, for I am weak and I had the devil as sole company.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	Was it a dream, was it a nightmare ?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Novenkink challenge, for the term "Shotgunning" that I didn't know and had to research.

Journal of Jonathan Harper

6 may - addendum to my journal

Truly this is a fascinating and dangerous part of the word. I tremble to narrate my experience of the night, and it's this fear of not only of the accusation of the world, but also my own guiltiness, that pushes me to write these particular facts on a torn off sheet of paper rather than my usual journal. Oh, if Mina were to read these lines !... Forgive me Mina, for I am weak and I had the devil as sole company.

I suppose I do need to start at the beginning, would it be only for me. I still have trouble understanding everything that happened tonight, and I must admit, I am not entirely certain that it wasn't a dream. But what kind of man can dream so horrible and sublime experiences ? All these feelings were new, and I couldn't have made them up from thin air, could I ? I think the best I can do is writing here the events as they unfolded, or at least, how I perceived them to unfold.

It was after I changed carriages. I sat into the Count's vehicle, driven by that mysterious, cloaked man with the wicked grin, and I was traveling through the dark woods as such a speed I felt as if I was flying, except from these moments when the carriage stopped and my driver disappeared between the trees to follow the faint flickering blue flames. He always returned though, dispersing the wolves and their haunting howling as he did so. Each time, I felt as if my heart was too contracted by fear to ever start again. I do not know if it was the idea of being left alone or the sight of him returning that rose such emotions in my heart... But then he climbed back into his post, and we traveled to the next point at a terrifying pace. The moon was hiding behind thick, black clouds, and I could not see out of the window for the life of me. I felt as if my driver stopped and exited the carriage more than two dozen of times, although I cannot be certain since the scene was so similar from one time to another that it feels like I remember them wrong. But at one point, I noticed that we hadn't stopped in a while, and as I kept waiting for the abrupt stopping of the horse, I had to face the fact that now, finally, we were going to the infamous castle. I was even hoping for some sleep, I recall, my head nodding off by the window. It was then that I must have felt asleep : how else would I explain my own reaction in the following events ?

I remember it clearly. I was thinking about my lack of sleep comfort when, to my disappointment, I felt the vehicle slowing down. Surely, we weren't yet arrived, so wanted to ask the driver for an explanation. But before I could open my mouth, he entered the cabin, still cloaked and hat on his head. He was carrying a woolen blanket, and he handed it to me.

\- From my master, he said in his impeccable German. He wants you to have the most comfortable journey possible.

If I was in my natural state, I would have had to bite back comments on the quality of the journey being considerably lowered by our frequent interruptions, but back then I felt... nothing. A numbness, appendage of dreams. As soon as I took the present in my hand, he smiled from those incredibly red lips and hit the wall of the carriage. At this signal, the horses began to run again, incredibly, on their own.

\- They know the way, my companion explained.

In the cabin as dark as the woods outside, all I could see were the gleam of his lips and of his eyes, and the incredible paleness of his hands that poked from under his cloak.

-Allow me, he said, and suddenly I realized I had just been holding the blanket instead of using it.

He took it from my hands, unfolded it, and neatly placed it on my shoulders and my lap. His hands stayed on my legs, however, and I remember only the curiosity I had at that time.

\- There is... another gift my master wants to give you, the driver said in a low voice.

His right hand was moving on my leg, and his left hand was finding its way under the blanket. Even through my travel pants, I could feel the icy temperature of his fingers and could not suppress a gasp of surprise, that seemed to make him smile. His hands traveled up my legs, keeping on going higher and higher, and I must admit the feeling felt quite... nice. When the hands reached at the highest point between my legs, they brushed against my intimate parts, and a shiver ran through my entire body. I could feel the eyes of the man on me, their intensity only manifesting with the sparks of lights that hit them. What a strange sight ! I could believe it was the shadow itself that was giving me these strange ministrations, as if the night had decided to grow her own hands. It was so strange, and brought me such a particular, odd kind of desire, that I didn't even think about protesting. The cold hands caressed and caressed, and to my surprise I found myself growing and hardening under his touch. It was truly and describable pleasure, to feel something gradually growing in one's soul without being able to determine where. I closed my eyes an instant, trying to even my breath, and when I opened them again, the man was sliding his head under the blanket. Was I too afraid, or too polite, to ask him what he was doing ? I just remember that his hands didn't stop their icy caresses, and the rest was a lesser importance to me. Well, to be exact, they didn't stop until I felt lips around my member. I shuddered and gasped, and the lips stretched, as if the man was smiling.

His mouth was hot, although it might have been just by contrast with the hands and the night. This moist cave of warmth slid across my shaft, enveloping it entirely in its hell’s hotness. It was maddening, the feelings relayed by my body were so intense I feared I was going to pass out. The mouth then slid off almost all the way, but the lips still enclosed the tip and a tongue, long and thin, came to flicker at my slit. Oh what a feeling ! My head fell back against the wall of the carriage with a dull noise, eyes closed shut. I felt as if I was going to explode ! My body liked it so much, it just wanted to stay here and take it all. I must admit, I think a pained whimper came out of my lips when the tongue disappeared, but it was soon replaced by a noise of pleasure when the mouth enclosed my whole member again. I felt a hint of teeth, surprisingly pointy, but the flicker of fear only seemed to intensify my pleasure. What kind of man I am to think that ? I didn't care at all in the moment, I must say, for the man was repeating his trick with the tongue and I was overcome once again. He alternated between mouth as hot as flames and ministrations of the tongue, which in my dream-like memory I remember being cut in two at the tip, just like a snake...

I grew accustomed to the strange rhythm, but it only meant that I now didn't fear to implode, not that I knew how to deal with the intensity that my body was prey of. Only when the thought that I could grow used to it crossed my mind, the mouth disappeared entirely from my shaft, and I whimpered at the loss. Oh the cold of the night, oh the aching frustration ! My eyes still shut, I felt like a thirsty man who see the promised water get away from his grip. I needed more ! My lips trembled. I had been going faster and faster in my own mind, pleasure intensifying more and more, and now I was denied release ! I remember the desperation. Looking back, I think at this moment I would still have been able to walk away from it.

The rest, however, I was not, for mere seconds after his mouth had disappeared from my member, I felt it on a even more intimate place. I didn't know a man could get touched there ! I know I cried of surprise, but this time, the man didn't even stop. His tongue now pushed in my entrance, calm of pacing but unstopping, and as I felt my body relax, it pushed deeper. I was stuffed ! I never knew such feelings could exist, I hadn't even imagined them ! The tongue circled, and pushed, and pushed deeper still. I still don't know if I felt good, but it felt intense, very intense. It was a different kind of pleasure than the mouth on my shaft, and it seemed to ignite another part of my soul, though I would be completely unable to know which one. My hands were grasping at my seat, and my knuckles were surely white by now ; my head was still fallen backward, so every whimper of pleasure made my Adam's apple tremble. I thought the tongue to be thin when it was on my tip, how wrong I was ! It was getting thicker and larger the more it pushed, and my muscles didn't know how to adjust to this intrusion. They contracted, relaxed, but whatever I did it only sent more pleasure all around ! When I thought the tongue could not go further, it suddenly retracted, and I felt my body gape at the loss. Was I meant to be tortured ?

But instants after, in my saliva-coated intimacy, I felt another intrusion : less thick that the tongue, icy cold, bending on three places... it was a finger ! A finger in me ! I felt my body constrict to push the unfamiliar feeling away, but the finger crooked and started pushing back. It was so powerful... I cried again, and the finger pushed elsewhere. It was almost as if it was searching for something, pressing and rubbing different places. It was a lot to process, nerves I never used were suddenly igniting, and my mind was slowly going blank. All of the sudden the finger touched somewhere new, and my body shouted; I don't know how else to express it. A vague of pure, unaltered pleasure passed through and inside me. Whatever the man had done, he was doing it again and again, slow and calm. My soul was victim of waves and waves of incredible perfect assaults, but what could I do ? I loved it.

There, I said it. The feeling of that finger on this place felt amazing. To my horror, I started moving my hips to rock myself on this finger, so it could push deeper ! What had bewitched me ? I ended up lying on my seat, on my back, head against the side-wall and legs lifted up high. In this position, the finger pushed deeper and deeper inside me. It was intoxicating. I could not stop myself, I moved my hips to meet it halfway, to guide it more precisely to the magic point. I felt something pushing against my entrance, and suddenly, a new finger joined the previous one to invade and rub my insides. It stretched me, painful and nice, and the two fingers were agile and everywhere: They crooked, they pushed, I was whimpering and crying, unable to form words. I never dreamed of such intense pleasure ! The two fingers moved in and out, around, everywhere inside. I cried when they started regularly going away from each other, then back closer, then away again, as if they were miming the movement of a scissor. It opened me more and more ! How far could my body take it ? I wanted nothing more than to leave its complete access to these hands.

A third finger joined the first two, passing again and again on the point. They exited and entered again, always cold, always powerful, pushing the limit of my entrance a little more each time, and brushing against the place that made me gasp. How could I still want more? I was now half up, supporting myself by clinging on the walls, and I was pushing myself down on this wide, painful intrusion ! I just wished to be filled, so entirely that I could not think any other thoughts. The hand obliged, and pushed up every time I lowered myself down, and I loved it, loved it so much that I do not find the words, even now, to express it. Oh how much I cried ! The fourth finger made me scream, yet I did not stop. I wanted more, even if I was sure not more could be added; my pacing quickened, my entrance stretching so painfully each time, and yet each time the fainted touch to the magic spot elevated me. How could I still want more, still need more ?

On one particularly powerful thrust, I felt the whole hand passing the rim of muscles, and the pain was so sudden and intense that I collapsed. My body went limp, every muscle abandoning me, and I would have hit the ground if the powerful arms of my companion hadn't caught me. They kept my hips at a good height, letting my back arch backward and my head rest on the floor. The pain I was in ! Everything hurt so much I could only see white, even when my eyes closed. I tried to open them up : I saw the faint gleam of his smile in the darkness, and suddenly, his hand inside me moved. Its arm pushed and stretched my entrance from the inside, teasing the idea of exiting the monstrous size of his hand, then pushed back it, expanding everywhere at once, filling me entirely. The shout that exited me wasn't human. How was I still adoring this treatment ? There was no position in which his hand didn't rub painfully against the perfect spot, and I withered, cried, tears rolling up my face. It was too much, incredibly too much. My mind could not comprehend the all-powerful pleasure nor the immense pain I was feeling, and yet I was gathering whatever strength I had left to push myself on it. I was making the whole carriage shake from side to side, but I needed this hand. My shaft was painful, and I felt it bob against my stomach at every move; It needed release, so desperately that it hurt greatly, yet the thought of touching myself didn't even cross my mind at the moment. The hands, the arms from the shadow were to decide my fate, and in their surrendering I felt more free than I had ever felt. The hand managed to exit up to the thumb, then slammed back into me, and I shouted words I would be unable to remember now. It repeated this; the wide stretch was being the most painful thing I ever imagined, so much that I felt as it I would die at a second notice, and then it rammed into my intimacy, destroying it, splitting me in the middle. I felt but a toy, a mere hole, but I just loved it. The pleasure, the pain, both were too much for my poor body, so why was I still trying to push myself on the fist and the arm ? I just loved it, loved it, loved it. I loved the burning white unfathomable pain as much as the pleasure. And unfortunately, admitting that to myself is horrible, but I loved the impossibility of doing anything else. My captor had arms of steel, and he could have broken me without even flinching; I was powerless, utterly at his mercy, but somehow, it felt beautiful.

His arms flipped me over. How could they do such a prowess without the hand exiting me, I could not say. My back now faced the ceiling, but before I could marvel at this display of strength through my foggy mind, I got pushed against the door by a powerful thrust of the fist inside me. My hands and cheek got pressed against the window, and it was all I could do to stabilize myself as the pain and pleasure were again too much for my mind to understand. The change of position seemed to have given a new energy to the arms behind me, and suddenly my whole body got pushed by the fist, and again, and again before I could catch my breath. The pace was now quick, brutal, unforgiving; it pushed and pushed me against the window, and I could feel my own moans and cries as condensation against the cool glass. I was a mess, whimpering, begging with all my heart, without even knowing if it was for the hands to stop or to continue. This position made me somehow more exposed, barely holding on trembling legs, and it made my member harder if it was even possible. I could only take, even if that meant feeling like every second, I would be the one on which I would be tore open. Tears rolled down my cheeks, flying away at every movement the arms imposed me. Relentless, mean, the assaults on my insides were always close to tip me over so I could get release, but they always stopped close of it. My begging, sounding more like incoherent babbles, found no soul to appease them.

I stayed in this position so long, destroyed repetitively, that after a time I felt as if I was going to pass out at any given moment. I had no way of knowing how long it had been, yet I still tried to push back onto the fist, chasing desperately the release that would free me.

I gasped when I felt the icy hand on my shaft. It felt so strange, to be touched in this hell of stormy feelings ! The hand started to travel along my length, encircling me, pumping me slowly, and making me cry real tears of relief. The fist still hadn't stopped, maybe just slowed a little to synchronize with the hand pumping me; it still pushed me, making me shake, but now it also pushed my member into the other hand. The pain was blinding, but I was so close, so painfully close... the thumb rub at my tip and I finally came in hot, thick ropes of whites, crying of gratitude and relief. The pain, the needs, everything was erased as the most powerful pleasure overpowered me like a raging sea. My seed just kept on spilling and spilling, its pearly gleam covering everything in front of me, from the floor to the window, and even some on my cheeks. It was as if my very strength was leaving my body with it. Would it ever stop ? I couldn't care. I found myself trembling, still clinging to the window, thoroughly spent, tears still rolling on my cheek, as the last spurts exited my body. Everything ached, yet for an unknown reason it didn't bother me. I had almost forgot the presence in my rear when the fist exited me, drawing a last cry from my aching throat. As soon as it left me, my legs gave up and I fell on the puddle of my own making. I could feel my abused entrance trying to close itself, and failing to. The muscles where burning, aching, terrible; not just outside, but inside too, where everything burned and yet the cold air of the night was no relief on my overly sensitive nerves. I think I was still crying, for I did not know such intense pleasure existed, and the whole word felt a lie.

I passed out there, on the stained floor of my carriage cabin, rear still gaping and pants down. As the forgiving darkness enveloped me, I thought I heard a voice say in German "The Count wants you to know that pleasure can come in many forms, Herr Harker", but I cannot be assured it wasn't a dream starting already.

When I woke up, I was on my seat, my head resting by the window. Alone. I sat up, and the woolen blanket tumbled from my shoulder into my lap. I checked myself : I was impeccably clothed, my rear felt normal and after reflection, every muscle in my body felt no more tired than if it was one hour past midnight, in a carriage on badly-kept roads. I even felt well-rested. The cabin itself was pristine, the dark wood of the floor and the window looking exactly as I the did at the beginning of my journey. No trace of my... At the simple thought, I became nauseous. What had taken over me ? Did I really let myself be used and abused, split open and held ? Was I really stuffed to the brim like a turkey, and did I really beg for more ? By a stranger, none the less ! I felt my cheeks redden of shame. Strangely enough, the fact that it was a man didn't even crossed my mind at this moment, just that it was the servant of a count that I didn't even know, a stranger whose face I hadn't even see. The carriage was still moving through the land; I opened my window and poked my head out, and sure enough there he was, as cloaked as I had ever seen him. He seemed to notice me for I heard him say :

\- Awake, Herr ? We are almost there, do not worry.

I promptly sat back on my seat, face flushed red. I spent the rest of the journey, that was rather short, trying to collect my memories. Could it be bad to feel so good ? Why would the God above makes me experience something so sublime, if it was only for me to feel shame afterward ?

I write these lines in my bed, before sleeping. I met the Count, and noticed its similarity with my driver. The icy cold hands, particularly. I could not erase the memory of them on my skin, even if I wanted to... Could it be that I had this adventure with the count itself ? Did I even had it, or was it just a dream ? I am writing these lines to postpone the hour at which I will fall asleep. I am afraid to have similar dreams, but more than that, I am afraid that I will never dream of that again.


End file.
